


Give Me Your Hand (And I’ll Hold It)

by sarehawk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarehawk/pseuds/sarehawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This was only the beginning of trying to avoid (a voice in his head that sounded perfectly like Lydia sternly reminded him that it was to deal) with their problems. But they were there, and against all odds, they’d made it. Stiles knew that all he had to do was appreciate it.</i>
</p><p>Huddled away in a tiny beach town, Scott and Stiles try to rest, heal and find their way back to each other. Post-Season 3. For Sciles ReverseBang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Your Hand (And I’ll Hold It)

**Author's Note:**

> For the [sciles reversebang](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sciles_reversebang)! This fic was written for [coucourfeyrac](http://coucourfeyrac.tumblr.com/), inspired by her [beautiful artwork](http://coucourfeyrac.tumblr.com/post/91434052868/full-resolution-01-02-trust-me-click-the-full) and prompt (please go send her all the love - her artwork was so evocative and beautiful!)
> 
> Coucourfeyrac and the Sciles ReverseBang team have been such a pleasure to write for. I also want to thank my beta [laurahaie](http://laurahaie.tumblr.com/) for reassuring me when I doubted the fic, handling my excessive use of dashes, and making sure I got my Americanisms right!
> 
> The title was inspired by the Birdie song "People Help the People". Please heed the warnings in the tags - this fic does heavily deal with grief and PTSD surrounding Allison's death and other fic events.

_Scott’s canines were dripping with blood, his shirt stained a dark red and claws sunken inside Kate Argent’s chest.  
  
_ _He grinned, inhuman - his face twisted and snarling. Slowly he pulled his claws out of Kate’s chest, savoring it, licking his lips. Next to him Allison laughed and knocked her arrow, bringing it up to point at Stiles’s heart as he stuttered to a halt in front of the scene.  
  
_ _Allison slowly tilted her head sideways.  
  
_ _“You.”  
  
_ _Stiles opened his mouth but couldn’t find any words, nothing but panicked breathing escaping his swollen throat.  
  
_ Wake up, _he thought._ Wake up!  
  
 _Slowly, Scott stood up and turned, looking at Stiles with eyes darker than the blood on his lips.  
  
_ _“You.”  
  
_ _“Scott, I...”  
  
_ _And then they both turned as Allison let out an inhuman screech as a sword was thrust through her stomach, blood dribbling from her mouth and down her chin.  
  
_ _Stiles let out a cry but it didn’t compare to the inhuman roar that burst from Scott. Stiles watched as Scott’s muscles shifted, twisted and pulling as he cried out again and again - a boy no longer human but wolf. All wolf.  
  
_ _And he was angry.  
  
_ _The huge beast turned to Stiles._ Wake up, wake up!  
  
 _Stiles tried to scramble away but fell, kicking his legs out and tearing up his palms trying to find purchase on the ground as it shifted and slipped beneath him. Scott was stalking forward like he was hunting prey because it was_ all Stiles’s fault _and it didn’t help that he knew what was coming, had seen Scott launch himself at Stiles again and again and again...  
  
_ “Stiles! Wake up!”  
  
With a gasp, Stiles jolted awake. Scott’s brown eyes were wide as he withdrew his hand from Stiles’s shoulder and let him settle back into his body.  
  
“Okay?” Scott asked, his voice soothing.  
  
Stiles bent his head forward, and tried to catch his breath.  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered.  
  
Scott nodded, let it pass. “We’re here.”  
  
As Stiles took stock of his surroundings he realized that they had arrived - the Jeep parked outside a weathered house. Stiles took a deep breath of salty air and let it out, unclenching his hands  
  
Scott also took an appreciative sniff. “We’re right on the water.”  
  
Stiles smiled. “‘Course we are - Lydia ordered us relaxing strolls along the beach for the foreseeable future. Gotta be close to the sand for that, dontcha?”  
  
Scott nodded and slid out of the Jeep, his feet landing on the ground with a graceful thud. Stiles followed, albeit less gracefully, and slammed the door behind him before opening up the trunk. He dragged his bag out, then Scott’s. It was getting dark as the sun started to slip towards the horizon, but Stiles took his time.  
  
“Got the keys?”  
  
Scott patted his jeans pocket, rattling the house keys inside. God bless Lydia Martin and her parent’s investment property.  
  
“Let’s take a look then.”  
  
Together they shuffled up the stairs - the porch was lovely, wrapping around the front of the house and looking directly onto the ocean. The hanging swing chair was something out of a movie, and the blue porch railings and whitewashed boards clearly matched the theme. Stiles expected no less from a Martin house.  
  
There was only a small patch of green grass at the front of the house, with a path leading directly onto the sand, and as Stiles looked out across the beach it did feel peaceful - the fiery orange sunset lighting up the choppy waves. If he was in a poetic mood, he would compare it to Lydia’s hair. He’s not though, so he snatches the keys off Scott and jimmies open the door.  
  
The kitchen and lounge room were huge, Scott’s eyes wide as they explored the house. It was the bedrooms that looked the most tempting however, and Stiles just wanted to lie down and stretch his back. Each with double beds, feather pillows and large windows, it looked like heaven. Judging by Scott’s appreciative hum, he felt the same.  
  
“Dinner, shower, bed?” Stiles asked.  
  
Scott sighed. “Sounds perfect.”  
  
It didn’t, not yet. Stiles knew that. The tense, quiet drive until Stiles had fallen asleep was a testament to how not-perfect it was. This was only the beginning of trying to avoid (a voice in his head that sounded perfectly like Lydia sternly reminded him that it was to _deal)_ with their problems. But they were there, and against all odds, they’d made it.  
  
Stiles knew that all he had to do was appreciate it.  
  
*       *       *  
  
 _It felt like Stiles took a deep breath and the next thing he knew it was graduation. Like the blood bubbling up on Allison’s lips, dripping from Kate and Scott’s claws, was paused on the screen - like everything after that fast-forwarded, a blur of sound and corridors, college applications and exams that they all studied for - filling up the spaces in his mind where mountain-ash and fairytales belonged. But somehow, they had graduated.  
  
_ _It was so inconsequential to Stiles, the slip of paper telling him that he’d grown up. He was supposed to cry, he thought. Other people cried - in relief, in sadness, in nostalgia. Melissa had dabbed at her eyes as he walked across the stage; his Dad reaching down to grip her hand as they both beamed at him because he’d made it. He tried to pretend it was a victory.  
  
_ _Lydia made valedictorian of course, beating Stiles by only a few marks. They’d pushed each other, and pushed Scott, until they’d all made it over the line. She made her speech and it was beautiful, elegant, and her eyes had shone as she looked out across the crowd. Lydia didn’t mention Allison - or Aiden, Jackson, Kate, Peter or any of the people that shaped and formed and helped and destroyed her world over and over again, but it was hidden in her words, squeezed between the pauses and beat out in the ‘tap tap tap’ of her fingers on the podium.  
  
_ _They’d all cheered and thrown their hats (a tradition Stiles had never understood, but went with anyway - Lydia rolling her eyes and flattening her hair back down to perfection). Stiles’s chest ached as he saw Scott glance around, like he was seeking something (_ someone _) in his peripheral vision but couldn’t quite catch it. Stiles had leant down and gripped his wrist, and Scott turned, his smile faltering for a second before returning, more watery than Stiles would like. And then their parents had run over and it was a flurry of kisses and hugs and slaps on the back.  
  
_ _They didn’t go to any parties that night. Kira and Malia had tried to drag them out to Danny’s house, but in the end had left them at Derek’s new apartment - one that they’d all help pick out, that they’d gone Ikea shopping for and had movie nights in.  
  
_ _“You guys’ll be grey before 25, I swear!” Kira had teased.  
  
_ _Lydia snorted, flipping her hair, and Scott smiled without any of the awkwardness that had been in their interactions in the past few weeks. “Go tease Derek about greys. He’ll get you.”  
  
_ _The bubbly, resilient Kira (sometimes Stiles thought she was the only one keeping them going), had skipped out of the apartment leaving laughter in her wake.  
  
_ _And like that, it had been silent. Stiles took a breath. Another.  
  
_ _He’d felt like he was moving through muddy water as Lydia, Scott and Stiles looked at each other. Stiles could hear Derek making hot chocolate in the kitchen, his socks padding back and forth, humming every now and then to himself. It ached in a way that was old and familiar, Allison twisting around the darkness in his heart like a loving embrace that was just a bit too suffocating. If that was what losing a pack member felt like, then he wondered how Derek could smile with all those lost souls inside him.  
  
_ _“We made it,” Lydia had finally said. She’d reached out to grab Stiles’s hand, and then Scott’s. Scott lay his other hand palm up on his thigh, and Stiles slid his own into it. It was an odd trio, one that younger Stiles had dreamed about - his best friend Scott and the beautiful Lydia - all he needed in the world. It was so different though, because it was more. They were pack. All that was left of the original - so many lost to them.  
  
_ _But they’d made it.  
  
_ _Derek clambered into the lounge room, balancing a tray filled with mugs. He’d set it down on the coffee table, and Stiles still couldn’t believe how damn domestic it all was - so far from flooded lofts and blood-stained floorboards. Instead the carpet was plush and soft between Stiles’s toes, the room warm and homely. Derek was honest-to-god wearing yoga pants, and it made Stiles want to laugh and cry at the same time. He’d snorted instead, but Derek just ignored him and stepped over their huddled forms on the floor to switch the television on - still playing the cartoons Scott had been watching that morning, and Derek let it be with a wry sigh.  
  
_ _“C’mon,” Derek had said, “don’t be so doom and gloom.”  
_ _  
Lydia bit back a smirk, and Stiles rolled his eyes.  
  
_ _“It’s a sad day when you’re the cheery one,” Stiles quipped.  
  
_ _Scott had tried to stop his smile but failed, and they’d all burst into laughter - Derek hiding his smug smirk as he settled back into the sofa, kicking his feet up.  
  
_ _Stiles knew that if their messed up lives were a movie - one of those cheesy, sappy heartfelt movies that everyone secretly loved, that this would be the end. The moment afterwards, when everyone had healed and there was that glimmer of possibility - of hope for the future.  
  
_ _As he’d sipped his hot chocolate, mug warming between his palms and knees knocking against Scott’s and Lydia’s, Stiles knew that it wouldn’t ever be that easy. Not for them.  
  
_ *       *       *  
  
 _“You guys all settled in?”_ Lydia asked as Stiles wedged his phone between his ear and his shoulder, leaving his hands free to unpack.  
  
“Yeah, just getting a feel for the place now” Stiles answered.  
  
 _“How’s Scott?”  
  
_ “Quiet.”  
  
“ _And you?”  
  
_ Stiles grinned wryly and was happy that Lydia wasn’t there to see it - it was her least favourite look on Stiles’s face, apparently.  
  
“Tired. It was a long drive.”  
  
Lydia hummed into the phone, and Stiles could picture her, phone on loudspeaker as she painted her toenails an alarming shade of pink. He sighed.   
  
“ _It’s purple nail polish today._ ”  
  
Stiles groaned. “Don’t use your witchy mind powers on me.”  
  
There was a pause and Stiles wondered if he’d done it again - put his foot in his mouth like he was so good at, but then Lydia laughed and he felt something in his chest loosen.  
  
“ _You always do the same sigh when you’re imagining what I’m doing. And I’m always painting my nails at this time and talking to you. And you always assume it’s pink and I never paint my nails pink just to prove you wrong. Doesn’t take a genius to work out. Even though genius, I am.”  
  
_ Stiles laughed then, and the sound was still so unusual in his chest that it warmed him a little to go through it again - as if each laugh was a surprise. He started folding his clothes into drawers.  
  
“Do you think...” Stiles paused.  
  
“ _Out with it.”  
  
_ “Do you think it was a good idea to do this? Bring Scott all the way out here? I mean... what if... I don’t know...”  
  
“ _Stiles”_ Lydia sounded exasperated, and for some reason it reassured him. _“You know Scott better than anyone - and Scott knows you better than anyone. I know it took a lot of convincing, on_ all _our parts, but do you think I sent you guys there just for you to_ fix _him? He can’t be fixed. And you can’t be fixed. There isn’t a little werewolf counselor I can ask to pay you guys a visit to talk about all the fucked up stuff we’ve been through. And so we’re doing the next best thing - reading self help books and_ relaxing. _”_ Her voice became lower, more serious _. “Stiles, if this doesn’t make you guys feel better - breathing new, fresh air - not worrying about Beacon Hills, then come back. You have a choice. I just... I want you guys to get better.”  
  
_ Stiles rubbed his temple. “What about you?”  
  
Lydia let out a huff of air. _“I’m trying Stiles. I’m trying really hard and I’m doing better, weirdly enough. I think the only way we can go forward is if we all get on the same level. And I need you to try and heal. And I think the only way you can do that is with each other.”  
  
_ “I’ll try Lyds, but... I can’t make any promises.”  
  
Stiles could hear the smile in Lydia’s voice. _“I know Stiles - just... rest okay? And tell Scotty McCutie to rest a little too.”  
  
_ Stiles made a face on Scott’s behalf at the nickname, one that Kira had lovingly (and evilly) bestowed upon him. “Okay Lyds. Night, and sleep well.”  
  
“ _You too.”  
  
_ Stiles wandered out into the kitchen, where Scott was microwaving ready-made meals.  
  
“We can cook tomorrow,” he said. “Right now I’m beat.”  
  
Stiles collapsed onto a chair and rested his elbows on the kitchen island. “I’m not arguing.”  
  
When the food was ready Scott laid it out on the table, and they ate together quietly, making murmured conversation. When they were done they cleaned up, elbows knocking and dish soap splattering onto their bare feet.  
  
They both wished each other goodnight before they retired to bed. Stiles stared briefly out the huge windows at the ocean, and started to feel strangely homesick. He missed his Dad, and he missed his Mom, and even though he was asleep in the next room, he missed Scott. It felt like everything was upside down, and Stiles didn’t know if it was him that had changed or if it was the world - but he thinks maybe it was both - that the earthquake that had rocked Scott and Stiles’s life had reverberated through his body and left cracks and fissures. He couldn’t look at his own hands without seeing the damage they’d done and sometimes he feels strangely disconnected, like the world is turning but he’s not quite on it.  
  
Stiles wrestled into his pajama bottoms but decided to forgo his shirt in the cool summer breeze. Slumping down into the mattress, he once again thanked the Martins for how comfortable the bed was. Hopefully he could fall asleep quickly - soothed by the distant sound of waves crashing, removed from the sickly stench of fear and sweat that seemed to cling to the nights of Beacon Hills.  
  
He hoped Scott could do the same.  
  
*       *       *  
  
Stiles dreamed the first night at the beach house - of Scott, of course - because there was no ending without a beginning and so that was where his dream took him - the beginning.  
  
 _“C’mon baby, you’ll make friends easy! You made friends at the park didn’t you?” Claudia Stilinski told her son as he hid behind her leg. “School’s no different.”  
  
_ _“I don’t wanna,” Stiles whined. “Why can’t I just stay with you?”  
  
_ _There was a laugh behind them and a young woman with huge curly-brown hair looked over apologetically.  
  
_ _“I’m sorry,” she said, still trying to hide her smile. It’s just that... my son and I literally had the same conversation this morning. He’s over... Scott! Where are you?”  
  
_ _A boy with a huge blue backpack sullenly waddled up to his mother from behind a bush.  
  
_ _“What were you doing! You’ve got your cheeks all dirty.” Scott’s mother bent down and licked her thumb before reaching out to wipe the dirt off of Scott’s cheek. She glanced back up at Claudia and Stiles. “I’m Melissa, by the way. This little munchkin here is Scott.”  
  
_ _Scott crinkled his nose at being called a munchkin, but Stiles immediately launched into humming the tune from the Wizard of Oz.  
  
_ _“I’m Claudia,” Stiles’s mom said, and shook Melissa’s hand. “This here is Stiles.”  
  
_ _Melissa reached her hand out to shake Stiles’s, which he did with a grin. “Nice to you meet Stiles - now why don’t you two boys toddle off and we’ll come pick you up when school’s done - you can show me some drawings you did!”  
  
_ _Scott and Stiles glanced uneasily at each other, but walked into the classroom together.  
  
_ _That lunch, Stiles sat alone. He munched on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and then got out the cookie his mom had specially baked him. Just as he was about to take a bite, a blonde-haired boy stepped next to him and wrenched it out of his hand.  
  
_ _“Hey!” Stiles said with a cry, jumping up.  
  
_ _The boy grinned, slightly taller than Stiles, and continued to wave the stolen cookie around in the air.  
  
_ _“Did your Mooooommmy make that for you?”  
  
_ _Stiles didn’t even bother to open his mouth, just balled his fists in anger and kicked the boy in the shin. The blonde boy yelped, and would’ve dropped the cookie in the sand had Scott not suddenly appeared to catch it as it fell.  
  
_ _Scott sniffed at the boy. “You’re just jealous. Didn’t your mom make you anything?”  
  
_ _The boy, now distraught and minus a cookie, beat a hasty retreat.  
  
_ _Stiles looked at Scott, and then sat back down, patting the ground next to him.  
  
_ _“Wanna share?”  
  
_ Sometimes Stiles wondered how different his life would be if his mother hadn’t baked him that cookie. If Jackson hadn’t decided to make Stiles his victim. If Scott had walked away. He wondered if his Dad would still meet Melissa McCall, years later, and decide to try for love again. He wondered if Scott and him would still be in all the same classes. He wondered if Scott would be a werewolf - if Stiles hadn’t turned up with a police scanner in hand and wild notions of crime-solving adventures in the dark of the forest, if Scott could have all the normalcy he wanted.  
  
Stiles will never forgive himself for that. It was that guilt that woke him up - the future tainting the past in an unending cycle. He counted his fingers to assure himself, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, but a small part of him wished that he _was_ asleep, just so he could go back to the start - do it all again so Scott could have the life he dreamed of.  
  
One where Scott wasn’t tied down to a little town in California, a town that had seen so much death and will probably see more. Stiles wanted it to breathe life again, so he counted his fingers and hoped that it wasn’t real.  
  
It always was though, so when the panic overwhelmed him he got up and got dressed and went to see Scott. Because who else? Who else understood this fucked up mess of teenage years that they’d gone through? From shared cookies, through loss, and awkward crushes and pimple treatments and then through change - through fear and suffering, and absolute total happiness. Through love - Scott’s for Allison, and Stiles’ for Lydia, and for each other, at the end of the day. For the intertwining of their lives that it all comes back to. Because where would Stiles be without Scott?  
  
And, as Scott told him again and again, where would Scott be without Stiles?  
  
So, when Stiles clambered down the stairs and saw Scott out on the porch, shirtless and stretching in the morning sun, he felt okay. And even though their reality, of fairy tales and nightmares, was so unreal - Scott made it seem grounded.  
  
“Morning,” Stiles said casually.  
  
Scott smiled, the rings around his eyes betraying how little sleep he got. “Mornin’.”  
  
“Breakfast on the pier? Lydia told me there’s a great cafe on the end there.”  
  
“Sound’s good, Stiles.”  
  
It did, finally, and something settled in the pit of his stomach - something like hope, something like change.  
  
*       *       *  
  
As they walked to the pier - shoeless and with the morning sun beating onto their backs,  Stiles realized what Lydia had meant about the town.  
  
 _It’s like... it’s own world. No worries, you’re just there. In the moment.  
  
_ And it was true - the beach town was quiet and beautiful in a way that Beacon Hills wasn’t. Beacon Hills residents knew too much, walked with their heads down and let the silence go on a little too long. The whole town enveloped in an eerie stillness that emphasized the people missing - those that fell in the Hospital, the Police Station, the School. It was like every building was haunted with ghosts that Stiles knew weighed on Scott (they weighed on Stiles too, his hands dripping and the residue of a smirk plastered on his lips).  
  
This town though, it was just... quiet. Peaceful. A place where people said good morning to strangers and went about their daily lives and were removed from the world - just for a moment, just to breathe.  
  
Scott even seemed to look... content. That face he used to make when he’d had a good day at the vet, or when Allison kissed him on the cheek. Something almost like happiness.  
  
 _Maybe this town_ will _be a miracle cure_ , Stiles thought.  
  
Slowly they walked up the pier, and finally settled in a bustling cafe close to the water.  
  
“WhatcanIgetya?” The waitress asked in one breath, looking down at them. She had big curly hair and a pencil behind her ear - she looked about their age, her hair bleached blonde from the sun and her skin tanned. Her name badge read ‘Anna’ and she smiled a big toothy smile at their befuddlement.  
  
“You boys new here?”  
  
They nodded. “Staying up at the Martin’s place for a bit,” Stiles offered.  
  
“Ah, the Martins. They’re good to us here, sending folks down to stay. Fresh blood.” She grinned. “Otherwise I’m stuck with them regulars.” She nodded her head over at the older couple sitting at a table, newspapers out; at the mother trying to control her three kids; the group of hungover teens that all rolled their eyes at her gaze.  
  
“We went to school with Lydia, their daughter.”  
  
“Ah Lydia. Red hair, killer curves? I remember - the beach filled up quickly when she went for a dip,” Anna laughed. “Now, you boys ready to order?”  
  
Scott and Stiles quickly ordered their food, and Anna wandered away to talk to the hungover teens - evidently her friends. Scott and Stiles looked across at each other. Scott’s elbows were crossed on the table, and Stiles fiddled with his napkin.  
  
“She reminded me of Erica,” Stiles said.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The conversation fell silent.  
  
“Sleep well?” Stiles eventually asked.  
  
Scott shrugged. “The waves were peaceful,” he said, avoiding Stiles’s eyes. “We gonna go swimming soon? The water looks great.”  
  
Stiles nodded. “Sure. And I saw a few signs for hiking paths, we could squeeze that in.”  
  
Scott lent across the table, his chin in his hands. “We’ve got ages.” He smiled as if he finally believed it. “We can do whatever we want.”  
  
Stiles nodded. “I think I like it here,” he said, looking around the cafe. It was small and quaint, but had personality in every hastily glued seashell and driftwood decoration. In the laugh coming from kitchen, and the clack of forks against plates.  
  
“It’s peaceful,” Scott said, his eyes crinkling in the corner, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Don’t get too used to it.”  
  
“Or do.”  
  
“Hmmm,” Scott said noncommittally.  
  
“Order up!” Anna said as she dropped the food at the table. “Let me know if you need anything boys. And don’t be a stranger...” Anna looked a Scott, “Especially you, cutie.” She grinned as she wandered off.  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes as Scott blushed. He picked up his knife and fork and dug into his food, then let out a moan at the bacon and eggs he’d taken a bite of. It was like heaven. Stiles made a hasty reminder to never bring his dad here - even he wouldn’t deny the man bacon cooked to this level of perfection.  
  
“Duuuude, we’re never leaving this place.”  
  
Scott looked up at him, hashbrown hanging from his mouth, eyes wide.  
  
“Dude.”  
  
*       *       *  
  
Apparently doing “whatever they wanted” involved a lot of sweating. It was hot - sticky summer heat that clung to your body and was only relieved by being immersed in water.  
  
Scott had taken to walking around shirtless, and Stiles himself was wearing the bare minimum. When they noticed all the locals doing the same they stopped worrying about it, walking around town with only shorts on. Scott’s skin had started to brown further, and even Stiles was developing a tan - something he thought wasn’t possible.  
  
They pushed themselves to the limit - taking the longer hiking trails that had Stiles exhausted each night, but were a sight to behold. Scott started running every morning along the beach, coming back to the house red-faced and sweating just in time to eat the breakfast Stiles had made.  
  
They spent their days hardly talking - it was so different from the video game madness and skype calls of their early teenage years, a constant chatter from one person to the next until they’d exhausted every possible topic. They spoke differently now, had to, with touches and looks - a nudged shoe and sideways smile.  
  
Finally a week after they’d arrived, the weather started to cool down - just enough for a summer breeze to cut through the stifling heat.  
  
Stiles’ pajama pants were slightly too long as he trudged onto the porch, pooling around his feet and tripping him. Scott was on the swing, a beer in his hand as he overlooked the water. The sunset bathed him in orange and as he turned to look at Stiles his eyes flashed a deep red - a reminder.  
  
“It’s nice here,” Stiles said quietly, settling down next to Scott on the swing. He pushed gently so they started swinging again, and curled his feet up.  
  
“Yeah,” Scott murmured, taking a sip of his beer and looking back out on the water.  
  
“It was a good idea - well, Lydia’s ideas are always good I suppose.”  
  
Scott smiled, rested his head back against the seat.  
  
“Scott I -”  
  
“- Stiles, not today okay? I know what you’re going to say, and not today. Not now.”  
  
Stiles’s jaw clicked shut and he nodded, his cheeks burning. He grabbed Scott’s beer out of his hand and took a swig. Scott lolled his head to the side and looked at him, and again his eyes shone red - a reflex, an acknowledgement of what they both were.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
*       *       *  
  
 _For three months after Allison’s death they were fighting two wars. One was in Beacon Hills, with the emergence of more hunters and Kate tormenting them, playing with them until finally they all came together, hunters and werewolves, emissaries, kitsunes, werecoyotes and humans all joined to fight the woman who’d taken too much, who’d hurt Derek Hale too many times. And Scott, the True Alpha, in the thick of it all with bloodied claws and pointed fangs - Scott who had ended it all.  
  
_ _The second war though, that was the harder one. It had kept them awake at night, shaking - Stiles yelling loud enough to wake his Dad until together they’d huddle on the lounge and watch crappy late-night TV with too many infomercials, wishing that there was another voice to smooth it all over. Lydia, too quiet - afraid that every time she opened her mouth another scream would emerge, afraid that there would be another goodbye echoing in her head. Scott though, Scott was... fine. Smiled at everyone, showed up to work 5 minutes early and left 5 minutes late, made his mother dinner and studied every night.  
  
_ _Stiles thought that was the worst of all.  
  
_ *       *       *  
  
That night Stiles awoke to the sound of growling - low in someone’s throat, and then panting, a whine.  
  
He pushed off the covers and crept out of his room and into Scott’s. Scott was tangled up in his torn sheets, his claws digging holes into the mattress and his eyes clenched shut.  
  
“ _Scott_ ,” Stiles murmured. No reaction. “Scott!”  
  
Scott shot up, his teeth bared as he let out a low and ominous growl. His gaze darted around the room and landed on Stiles - his shoulders dropping. He didn’t let the red bleed from his eyes.  
  
“Go away.”  
  
“Scott it was just a nightmare...”  
  
“Go. Away. Stiles.”  
  
“I...”  
  
“Stiles!”  
  
Stiles crossed his arms and turned on his heels, slamming Scott’s door behind him. He opened his bedroom door just as violently, and flopped onto the bed. It was a sting - the rejection. How many times had Scott heard one of Stiles’s nightmares and woken him up? How many times had Stiles had to lean on Scott for support - and now he wouldn’t do the same?  
  
After a minute Stiles could hear a shuffling in the hallway, then his door opened quietly.  
  
“Stiles...”  
  
Stiles turned his head away from Scott’s voice, and though he knew it was childish he felt hurt. He missed Scott - he missed how _easy_ it had been with Scott. When things weren’t so tangled up - when _they_ weren’t so tangled up.  
  
Scott walked around to the other side of the bed, and the mattress dipped as Scott lay down next to Stiles. Their eyes met. Scott had circles that dipped lower than ever before, his sweaty fringe pushed back on his forehead. He looked as tired as Stiles felt.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Scott murmured.  
  
Stiles looked away, and in the quiet of the night, muttered, “was it me?"  
  
“Was what you?”  
  
“Your nightmare?”  
  
There was a sharp intake of breath and Stiles looked up at Scott’s pale face. Scott looked away.  
  
It was the confirmation he both did and didn’t want, and he felt his lip trembling. He looked down at his hands again. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5... 1, 2, 3, 4..._ Scott grabbed fingers, twisting their hands together as Stiles flinched away from his touch.  
  
He remembered how his hand had twisted around the blade in Scott’s stomach. Remembered the way had Scott shivered, and slumped forward, blood dripping onto the floor. Remembered how _happy_ he’d felt about it.    
  
“Go to sleep Stiles.”  
  
Stiles watched as Scott settled down into the pillow, keeping their hands together, and closed his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and Stiles finally let himself relax.  
  
*       *       *  
  
Stiles woke up with a violent flail, his hand hitting against something solid.  
  
“Owww,” Scott said, sitting up and rubbing his head. “I forgot to stay out of the danger zone.”  
  
He looked so ridiculous with his sticking-up hair and disgruntled expression that Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, slamming back down into the mattress and clutching at his stomach.  
  
Scott looked down at him, grinning. It felt like them again.  
  
*       *       *  
  
 _“Why don’t you get away for a bit?” Melissa was saying as Stiles let himself into the McCall house. “You deserve a break - and it’ll be nice, take... Stiles!”  
  
_ _Stiles waved his keys from the door of the kitchen. “Ignore me, carry on,” he said, “I’ll be in front of the television pretending you’re not having a serious conversation.”  
  
_ _Scott rolled his eyes. “As if you haven’t been part of every family discussion since we were kids.”  
  
_ _“True. At least we’re not being co-disciplined right now,” Stiles said, grinning. He let them be and threw himself down onto the lounge. Still, the conversation from the kitchen filtered through the air, tense and uncomfortable.  
  
_ _“You’ve been working too hard Scott, and you’ve just graduated. Take a damn holiday!”  
  
_ _Stiles winced as he heard a low growl, knowing that lately Scott’s mood had been all over the place. Knowing that the ‘everything’s fine’ facade would be coming down soon - and hard.  
  
_ _“Scott...”  
_ _  
“I don’t want a holiday. I’m staying in damn Beacon Hills!”  
  
_ _“So is that it? You’re going to live and die in Beacon Hills, move into this house, stay inside this tiny town, remembering fondly back on high school years and Allison...”  
  
_ _“Do not bring up Allison!” Stiles heard another growl, a plate crack, and the sound of harsh breathing.  
  
_ _“Scott!”  
  
_ _Stiles sat up, eyes wide as Scott stalked through the lounge room and up the stairs, his eyes red and claws extended.  
  
_ _Stiles let out his breath, closed his eyes for a second before getting up and wandering cautiously into the kitchen.  
  
_ _“Melissa?” Stiles asked, eyeing her where she was leaning against the counter, her eyes closed and hands rubbing at her temples.  
  
_ _“He’s impossible,” she whispered.  
  
_ _“He’s Scott.”  
  
_ _“But... even more so. Now that Isaac’s left, and everything’s over and Allison...” she opened her eyes. “He’s not okay.”  
  
_ _“We didn’t have a lot of time to regroup, with everything that happened with Kate Argent.”  
  
_ _“Is he okay Stiles? I mean, it’s not like I can get a damn therapist in. Hey can you help my son - he’s having a few post traumatic werewolf issues.” She sighed. “He’s been through so much...” Melissa reached out to touch Stiles cheek, “you both have.”  
  
_ _“I’ll go up and check on him, okay?” Stiles grabbed the dinner plates off the counter, “do you mind if we eat upstairs?”  
  
_ _Melissa smiled tiredly at him. “Thank you Stiles.”  
  
_ _He gave her a smile in return, then clambered up the stairs balancing two plates.  
  
_ _“Knock knock” Stiles said, not waiting for an answer before he pushed the door open with his hip. Scott was lying face down on his bed, and if it wasn’t so reminiscent of Stiles’s usual defeated pose he would call it pathetic.  
  
_ _“C’mon, your mom made dinner.”  
  
_ _Scott sighed and sat up.  
  
_ _“Put them away,” Stiles said, his eyes flicking down to Scott’s claws.  
  
_ _“I just want to be normal,” Scott muttered.  
  
_ _He set the plates down on Scott’s desk and climbed up onto the bed, facing Scott. Stiles wanted to take Scott’s hand, run his finger over each claw until Scott realized that it was a part of him, and that it was okay. He selfishly wanted Scott to do the same - to draw out all the terrible things Stiles had seen, that Stiles had done with his hands, and make it better.  
  
_ _“Let’s go away,” Stiles murmured.  
  
_ _“We can’t. We can’t Stiles - don’t you think I want to?”  
  
_ _Scott looked small, and angry - angry in a way that made Stiles uneasy.  
  
_ _“You’re not stuck here Scott - we can leave! It’s time I took my Jeep for a long spin again, hey I’ll even let you drive!”  
  
_ _“Can’t you see Stiles?” Scott said, his voice raised, and Stiles felt like he was watching young Scott McCall - all floppy hair and control issues as his claws ripped into his bed sheets, fangs making his words slurred. “I... I can’t, this is my home, my territory, and if I leave it undefended... you don’t know what will happen. I have to do what I can, it’s my responsibility.”  
  
_ _“Scott, you’re a kid.” Stiles reached out but Scott flinched back slightly, and it burnt uncomfortably in Stiles’s throat until Scott slouched forward all of a sudden, loosened. Defeated.  
  
_ _“Allison was a kid.”  
  
_ _And that silenced the conversation.  
  
_ _There was nothing Stiles could say to that, because Allison_ had _been a kid. Scott and Allison were kids in love, and then they were kids out of love, and in love again and maybe they would have ended up together again and maybe they wouldn’t have - but that possibility was lost to them and Stiles knew that it ached in Scott’s bones because Stiles could feel it too. The loss of Allison and the loss of all she could’ve been.  
  
_ _Stiles choked back guilt as Scott choked back anger and it was the furthest apart Stiles has ever felt from Scott - like he didn’t understand Scott as an extension of himself anymore. Like Stiles didn’t understand himself. His body had been taken from him when the Nogitsune crawled inside, but days, weeks, months later Stiles still felt like he hadn’t fit back in_ just right. _And every night Stiles looked in the mirror and could feel the way his cheeks tugged up like they’d done when the sword was thrust through Allison’s body. What his hands had done. What his mouth had ordered the Oni to do.  
  
_ _So no, he couldn’t say anything to that - so instead Stiles reached out and gripped Scott’s knee, warm and reassuring, and hoped that somehow he could share the burden of this town, and all it had done to them.  
  
_ *       *       *  
  
“ _Have you talked to Scott yet?_ ”  
  
“Jesus Lydia can you come up with more imaginative ways to start this conversation?” Stiles swung more violently in the porch swing, frustrated. He could see Scott in the distance running back and forth along the beach. “No I haven’t, okay? It’s harder than you think!”  
  
“ _Okay god, no need to be snippy_ ,” Lydia said. Stiles could feel her eyeroll.  
  
“I tried to, okay?” Stiles let his voice descend into a hushed whisper. “He wasn’t having any of it.”  
  
“ _He’s gonna explode, I’m just glad I’m not there to see it. First time round it was bad enough._ ”  
  
Stiles sighed, ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “Yeah, thanks for that.”  
  
“ _I didn’t mean... It’s not your burden Stiles. You know I didn’t mean that..._ ”  
  
“I get it. Scott’s mine. He’s my responsibility, always has been, always will be.”  
  
“ _That’s so_ unhealthy _Stiles I didn’t mean..._ ”  
  
Stiles angrily jabbed his finger onto the screen to disconnect the call, knowing that Lydia would be pissed but not caring.  
  
Stiles just _wasn’t good at this._ He couldn’t start the conversation because he couldn’t deal with it himself - he didn’t want to break this little slice of peacefulness they’d carved out.  
  
He brought his knees up to his chest, tracing the outline of his feet with his fingertip, up his leg and around his knee.  
  
It felt like he’d been shoved back in upside down. Or that he... the _nogitsune_... had changed something, grown, so that Stiles felt small in his body. It was frustrating - he couldn’t understand why it was so hard to look at himself and think, _that’s me._ Why some of his movements had changed, the way he smiled.  
  
He pushed the swing higher, until it was creaking a steady rhythm. He could see Scott trudging back from the beach, towel wrapped around his waist.  
  
The phone in his hand let out a chime, and Stiles looked down at the text. _Don’t hang up on me again. It’s rude and I don’t appreciate it. I didn’t mean to pressure you, but I just think it’s time you guys had a heart to heart. I don’t blame you Stiles, no one does. Your dad sends his love. X Lydia.  
  
_ Attached was a picture of his dad sitting in the Beacon Hills diner staring dejectedly at his salad. Stiles let out a laugh.  
  
 _Sorry Lyds. And you’re right. I’ll talk to him. Tell dad I love him, love you too. S  
  
_ “Talk to Lydia?” Scott asked as he wound his way up the stairs to the porch.  
  
“Yup,” Stiles said, popping the ‘p’. “Have you called your mom yet?”  
  
There was silence.  
  
“Scott!”  
  
“I know, I know okay. I just got distracted.”  
  
Stiles watched as Scott brushed the sand from his legs, and wrung his hands together.  
  
“...Scott I really do need to talk to you.”  
  
Scott huffed, stood up straight and looked at Stiles with those awful sad eyes of his.  
  
“Put the eyes away, they’re not going to work on me,” Stiles muttered.  
  
Scott frowned and crossed his arms. “Do we really have to hash this out? Now?”  
  
Stiles stood up, the swing hitting the back of his legs. “Well, when’s a better time for you? Shall I get your little werewolf calendar out and you can schedule a time?”  
  
“If you would just stop _pushing!”_ Scott threw his towel down on the ground, ran a hand through his hair frustratedly.  
  
“We need to talk about this!” Stiles was sick of the games - sick of feeling like he was wrong and sick of the uncertainty.   
  
“What do you want me to say Stiles?”  
  
“Anything! Anything is better than the ‘not now’s, and ‘I’m fine’s that I’ve gotten!”  
  
Scotts eyes were red again, a stark reminder of how badly this argument could go. But Stiles wouldn’t back down - he’d dealt with it before and he would again. For Scott.  
  
“Okay Stiles,” Scott’s voice was quieter, deadly, and it made something in Stiles still. “How about: I’m sick of being treated like an invalid? Whispered conversations with Lydia, and my mom, and your dad, all about me and _how I’m dealing_ when you’re the reason I’m in this situation in the first place!”  
  
Stiles took a step back.  
  
“Allison is _dead_ , and I can’t have her back. Kate Argent’s blood is on my hands and I don’t feel an _ounce_ of regret about it. I’m stuck in Beacon Hills. I have to look after the pack - I have to look after you and Lydia and Malia and Kira and my mom, and if I have to goddamn pretend that everything’s okay until it is, then I will!”  
  
“You have to deal with...”  
  
“I have _so much_ to deal with Stiles. Don’t make you one of them.” Scott turned on his heel then, stomped back down the stairs, leaving Stiles staring after him.  
  
*       *       *  
  
 _Scott had been snippy since he and Kira stopped doing... whatever they’d been doing. Since Kate Argent. Since the focus of school was over.  
  
_ _Gone were the days that Stiles and Scott just_ hung out _, just the two of them, instead replaced with Pack meetups and town protection strategies. It wasn’t that Stiles didn’t think it was important, he just thought the down times were important too - and Scott didn’t seem to be having a lot of those.  
  
_ _In one of his sessions with Deaton, the man had pulled Stiles aside and asked if Scott had talked to him. He seemed disappointed when Stiles said no. Both Melissa and Stiles had tried to convince Scott to take a holiday - had tried bringing up the past, had tried ignoring the past. Stiles had had his_ Dad _talk to Scott, all to no avail.  
  
_ _In Pack meetings, Scott kept pulling an Alpha - flashing his eyes to make everyone instinctively back up, and whether it was conscious or not, he started in on Derek - the nearest ‘Alpha’ threat. Their arguments raged on - glasses thrown, claws out, papers ripped and teeth bared, until Stiles and Lydia had to step in. Stiles knew it was taking a toll on Derek, who loved Scott like a brother. Stiles also knew it was hurting Scott, who was racked with guilt he wouldn’t admit to.  
  
_ _Stiles knew Scott was going to break - it was only a matter of time.  
  
_ _*       *       *  
  
_ _Three months after graduation it all came to a head. Three months of tense conversation, hushed words and broken off sentences. Three months of nightmares, panic attacks, hypervigilance, fear. Three months of Scott’s anger, three months of Stiles frustration, and three months of Lydia’s fear - all trying to deal with the mess that their lives had become - all dealing in three separate ways.  
  
_ _It all started when the damn dog died.  
  
_ _It was the dog that Scott had been caring for for the last two months - Rusty, with complicated internal injuries from being hit by a car. She had been doing so_ well _, Scott paying extra attention to her, coming in after hours and waking up early to treat the animal.  
  
_ _Deaton walked into his clinic that morning - the morning that Scott had found Rusty looking peacefully asleep in her kennel, before discovering that the poor dog had succumbed to her injuries in the night - to find the operating room destroyed. And Scott in the middle, wolfed out and_ mad. _So mad that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk - a panic attack wrapped in destruction.  
  
_ _Deaton tried, he really did. In the end he called Melissa, who called Stiles, who called Lydia, who sensibly called for backup in the form of Derek. Together they arrived at the clinic.  
  
_ _“Scott?” Stiles asked, pushing the door open and inching around into the room.  
  
_ _“Go away!” Scott growled.  
_ _  
Stiles laughed nervously, “You know I’m not going to do that.”  
  
_ _“She’s dead.”  
  
_ _“I know, Scott. I’m sorry,” Lydia said gently from somewhere in the room behind Stiles. “I’m sorry.”  
  
_ _“She’s DEAD.” Scott growled and with a sudden, violent outburst threw a broken tray at the wall, then another, and another. Swiped the glass bottles onto the floor so they crashed onto his feet and shattered, blood pooling onto the ground. Stiles flinched at the smell.  
  
_ _“Scott...”  
  
_ _Scott turned and looked at Stiles, he eyes darker than the blood at his feet, his claws clenched until red dripped from his palms.  
  
_ _“...It wasn’t your fault,” Stiles said, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.  
  
_ _It seemed to be too much for Scott, and with a growl he launched himself at Stiles - inhuman, roaring, his teeth bared and back hunched, twisted. Half animal. A werewolf. An Alpha.  
  
_ _Stiles was roughly pulled back and Derek leapt into action, colliding with Scott midair. Scott roared, and bit sharply into Derek’s shoulder. Derek flinched in pain but slammed Scott into the floor - and the fight began.  
  
_ _It lasted for an hour, as Stiles shakily sat down and Lydia clutched him, Melissa crying behind them. They were helpless, so helpless, and that was what hurt the most. Humans who couldn’t deal with this - who didn’t know how to handle an Alpha’s pain that was so_ huge. _Stiles knew why Scott attacked him, knew it in his gut. He’d have to live with that feeling forever.  
  
_ _And finally, finally Scott stopped. Hunched over in the blood-splattered room, and screamed.  
  
_ _Later, Lydia packed Stiles’s bags, put him in the Jeep - his legs pulled up to his chin, and drove him over to Scott’s. Then she let herself into Scott’s house, packed_ his _bags for him, and gave him the keys to the Jeep, and the directions to the beach house.  
  
_ _“Get better,” she whispered, touching Scott’s cheek.  
  
_ _“I’ll try,” he replied.  
  
_ _Scott didn’t look back as they drove out of Beacon Hills.  
  
_ _*       *       *  
  
_ It was dark, and Scott still hadn’t returned when Stiles stood out on the porch and looked at the glowing fire in the distance.  
  
He could make out the forms of people stumbling around, could hear the chatter and laughter of teenagers that the sea breeze brought. A bonfire on the beach. _Very Twilight_ , Stiles thought. But he put on his hoodie and trudged down to the beach anyway, hoping to find Scott.  
  
He wanted to cry again, but the hours since Scott had stormed away had used up all his tears - his hands shaking as he dialed Derek’s number and asked for advice on dealing with loss. Who better to ask, really?  
  
But now Stiles had to do the chasing. So with anxiety thrumming in his bones he walked closer and closer to the bonfire. Bottles were strewn along the sand, and teenagers on top of each other, laughing, kissing (and in one exceptional case, sleeping with water lapping over them like a blanket). Stiles inspected each face in the dark but couldn’t see the telltale slant of Scott’s nose - his jaw or the slope of his shoulders.  
  
“Hey! Fresh blood!”  
  
Stiles whipped around to see Anna sitting on a log by the fire. Gone was her diner apron and instead she was wearing a dress and worn brown jacket. Her hair fluttered in the wind.  
  
“Nice of you to join! Your friend’s around here somewhere,” she smiled, but it seemed to shrink slightly as she stood up and moved away from her group of friends. She stepped closer to Stiles and lowered her voice. “I don’t want to get all up in your business, but you might wanna think about taking Mr. Dimples home. I think he’s trying to find God in the bottom of a bottle of gin, last I saw him. Don’t know how he’s putting away as much alcohol as he is.”  
  
Stiles bit his lip and nodded, touching her arm. “Thanks.” He could finally see Scott at the edge of the party - slumped down on the ground and staring at his shoes, a bottle between his hands. Stiles looked back at Anna. “No seriously, thanks.”  
  
She nodded. “Good luck, okay?”  
  
Stiles trudged over to Scott, held his breath as he sat down on the ground next to him and put his hand on Scott’s thigh. “Time to go home, big guy?”  
  
Scott shrugged. “Mmm, ‘guess,” he slurred.  
  
Stiles hauled Scott up, and together they stumbled along the beach back to the Martin’s place. Scott was already sobering up, his werewolf metabolism working through the alcohol in his system. He clutched the railing as they ascended the stairs up onto the porch, where Scott stopped.  
  
“Stiles, I...”  
  
“Hey,” Stiles murmured, stepping towards Scott. “It’s okay. You know that right? It’s gonna be okay.”  
  
Scott’s lips trembled, his eyes tired and watery. “I didn’t mean... when I said it’s your fault. I never meant that. I...”  
  
“We can talk about it in the morning,” Stiles murmured.  
  
Scott shook his head and looked out at the water. “No... no you’re right. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad and I put your life at risk, and everyones life at risk. It just... I’m _so mad.”  
  
_ “I know.”  
  
“I’m so angry all the time, and I wake up in the middle of the night angry, and when I sleep I’m angry, and it’s just _not fair._ ”  
  
Stiles put his hand on Scott’s shoulder.  
  
“None of this has been fair.”  
  
Scott let out a sob, and it felt like a release in Stiles’s chest. Scott hadn’t cried in so long - he’d screamed, he’d yelled, he’d fought - but he hadn’t mourned.  
  
“I miss her so much, I just... I don’t understand anything that’s happened. And when I feel like I do... I have dreams, flashbacks...”  
  
“I do too, you’re not alone in this Scott,” Stiles felt his own tears well up.  
  
“I know. I just... I miss you Stiles. I’m scared.” Scott turned to look at Stiles, and the pain brimming in his eyes was a blow. But they could do this, they could deal with this. Scott leant forward, and wrapped his arms around Stiles. Stiles’s breath caught, and he gripped Scott tighter, let Scott bury his head in Stiles’s collar.  
  
“It’s going to be okay,” Stiles murmured, running his hand through Scott’s hair then resting it on the nape of his neck. “I promise. Together, okay? Like always.”  
  
 _*       *       *  
  
_ _Scott’s canines were dripping with blood, his shirt stained a dark red and claws sunken inside Kate Argent’s chest.  
  
_ _Stiles couldn’t bear to look at him – couldn’t handle the guilt. Where was the Scott he knew? The boy so full of optimism and hope that it balanced out Stiles’s cynical, biting remarks? Now all Stiles could see was the wolf – the darkness that twisted inside Scott since he’d been bitten. The darkness that Stiles had caused, and caused over and over again.  
  
_ _He could see every fuck up and sin laid before him - Allison’s ghost laughing from her place beside Scott as he stared down into the desperate eyes of Kate Argent. Scott, who shouldered this responsibility. Scott, who still couldn’t understand_ why _. Why had this happened to them?  
  
_ _Scott wrenched his claws out, the last vestiges of life leaving Kate. Derek, slumped on the floor, let out a groan - half relief, half grief, while the hunters howled in triumph. A battle won.  
  
_ _Finally Stiles allowed himself to slump over, exhausted. Next to him, Lydia laid down Allison’s bow, the one Mr. Argent had given her and she’d trained with over and over until the arrows had finally hit the target with a satisfying thwack. All around them hunters started to clean their weapons as Kira dropped her sword, a grin on her face as she turned to Malia’s naked, shivering form and bundled her in the extra clothes Kira carried. Malia gave her a thankful smile.  
  
_ _Slowly, Scott’s wolf-features merged back to human, though his eyes still blazed red and his chest heaved.  
  
_ _With a loud voice, filled with anger that sent a shiver down Stiles’s spine, Scott said, “It’s done.”  
  
_ _Stiles felt a hand on his back, gently rubbing down the ridges of his spine.  
  
_ _“Okay?” Lydia asked.  
  
_ _Stiles took a deep, trembling breath – remembered how Lydia had fought beside him, with chants and arrows, mountain ash and fire, and how they’d won. How against all odds, they had won.  
  
_ _“We’re alive.” Stiles said.  
  
_ _Lydia choked out a laugh. “Yeah… yeah we are.”  
  
_ _Stiles looked up in time to catch Scott’s eyes, filled to the brim with burning-red anger that quickly shuttered into something like blank acceptance, and wondered how much of them was left.  
  
_ _*       *       *  
  
_ Something in Scott broke when he killed Kate Argent. Derek said it was innocence. Kira said it was self-worth. Stiles remained silent - he knew what it was, knew what was missing from Scott’s eyes as he smiled at lost dogs and pretended not to see the sopping shadow of a young Allison Argent in the corner of the clinic.  
  
It was hope.  
  
Stiles just wanted to piece it back together, bit by bit. In any way he knew how.  
  
And as he clutched Scott, his arms tight around Scott’s heaving shoulders and tears soaking into the collar of his shirt, he knew that they could finally start. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the read! The original prompt from [coucourfeyrac](http://coucourfeyrac.tumblr.com/) was: "I was thinking of their bond and how they were both sort of pulled into this world that’s made a mess of their lives together, and the differences in how they handle things but the fact that no matter what they handle it together. Scott’s increasing anger and frustration and Stiles’ feeling more and more frustrated and unable to control his own life and understand himself. They’re both really reaching their breaking points, and when they’re really, truly starting to lose it they’re the only ones who can really help each other." 
> 
> Please please go praise her [BEAUTIFUL artwork](http://coucourfeyrac.tumblr.com/post/91434052868/full-resolution-01-02-trust-me-click-the-full), because without it this fic wouldn't even be here! And thank you again to [laurahaie](http://laurahaie.tumblr.com/) for being a fantastic beta, and helping me so much! 
> 
> Finaaally, please leave a comment and let me know what you think :) Or of course send me an ask or follow me on tumblr at [sarehawk](http://sarehawk.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> PS. This may have a follow up fic - I have leftovers and cut scenes that I can't let go of, so I may post another half at a later date! Let me know what you think. :)


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